


Rain, Rain, Go Away

by Wearysea



Series: Stone Cold Meets Affection [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Everyone Is Gay, Jervis is an oblivious disaster bi, Jonathan struggles with his sexuality, Let's give Jonathan and Jervis a happy ending shall we, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wearysea/pseuds/Wearysea
Summary: … Please come back another day.





	1. Chrysalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrysalism, n. the amniotic tranquillity of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

Saying Gotham isn’t a nice place to live would be an understatement. Even if many areas have been revitalised, much of the outskirts of this fair city were still in ruins from the earthquake a few years back, leaving many of the previously wealthy areas as the broken homes of the poor and while efforts are being made to reach these areas, they are not a priority. Petty crime is more prevalent in these places, however, no inch of the city is immune to the… peculiar band of costumed criminals that’ve made their home here, though it wouldn’t be particularly pleasant in the absence of the Rogue Gallery either. The city is such a dreary place it’s surprising that anyone can find it habitable at all, the sun being so rare that there was truly no point in so much as considering solar panels, and dark clouds smothered the sky for most of the year, whether it was going to rain or not.

These past three months have been leaning heavily towards favouring rain and anyone who looked out of a window this morning would insist you cancel any plans that involve going outdoors. Luckily for the Scarecrow, his To-Do list consisted solely of chemistry for the time being, working on a new and improved fear toxin always took time and he enjoyed the process of creating just as much as the use.

Currently, he sits cross legged on a dark wooden desk, in a desolate room at the top of an old office building, crumbling on one side but rather solid and dry on the other, perfect to hold up in for the time being. The rain acts as soothing background noise as he works, hunched over his notebook and scribbling words like a demon on a mission, looking up every now and again to look at the single papers strewn about further in front of him, checking previous formulas and their effects. Jonathan suddenly sits upright in reaction to the first crack of thunder reverberating somewhere outside.

Stretching and trying not to wince at the very audible crack, he decides a break is in order, then promptly lies down flat with his legs dangling off the desk. As much as he liked working to the sounds of the storm, letting his mind clear while he appreciates the rain might do him some good, he’d been working himself to the bone the past few weeks after all.

He lets his attention drift from the notebook to the walls; to the pealing once-white cream illuminating with light every few minutes and despite not being comfortable at all, he can’t help but feel some semblance of cosy in this dilapidated structure, the storm raging on and undoubtedly beating down on some poor sucker making their way through the streets while he was nice and dry with no plans of leaving his current safe haven. It’s enough to warm the cavity where Jonathan’s heart would be if he had one.

Although, he can’t help but notice how quiet everything would be without the storm, and a little part in the back of his head misses the Mad Hatter’s antics. After a plan gone wrong, as per the norm, he’d gotten himself stuck back in Arkham and Jonathan tells himself he can’t remember how long Tetch has been gone, as if he hadn’t been counting the days with mounting frustration.

He’d gotten very used to the Hatter’s visits, or ‘impromptu tea parties’ as Tetch called them, to the point that he’d had become unnerved by the long stretches of silence his days were built up of when Tetch wasn’t dropping in unannounced every day. Jonathan wished the “revolving-door-policy” the press claimed Arkham had was actually in place, a game of chess almost made the idea of getting caught again appealing. Almost.

With a sigh, Jonathan remembers why he’d been so single-minded with his experiments these past weeks. His gaze is drawn, for the first time in a long time, to the dusty window across the room. The silly caricature of his friend he’d drawn on the glass with his finger welcomed his attention, and a renewed worry bit at his lungs again. It was so uncharacteristically childish of him, he didn’t fully know why he’d done it, exhausted and bored and missing Tetch, but it made him recall a very old truth that sat in the back of his mind, one that he was… _afraid_ to confront. From a young age he knew nothing good could come of it, so it had shoved into an isolated mental closet and left it to collect cobwebs.

_Pain, pain, go away, don’t come back another day… I should have more control over myself than this!_

He needed to get back to work, anything to get his mind off Tetch, with more vigour than he had, now back in his previous position, Jonathan grabs the notebook and pen back off the desk and glares at his own writing like it had insulted his crows. And it works for a little while, almost two hours pass before the thoughts creep back in, and by that point he’d hit a wall with his research anyway, he’d need another test subject soon, he had too many questions about this modification that needed answering. In the meantime, working isn’t working for him anymore and he doesn’t know what else to do.

Maybe it would help if he wiped away that ridiculous drawing… but something from a non-existent place in his chest tells him not to, and he hates that he has to comply. Instead, Jonathan focuses his attention on the crevice’s in his desk, too old and worn to be smooth, likely why it had been abandoned but Jonathan didn’t spare that much thought, whoever’s loss is his gain. A grin splits his face as this realisation dawns, and a terrible joke occurs to him:

_I don’t know much about ravens, but Scarecrow’s apparently like writing desks._ Which is immediately followed by… _Damn it, Tetch, what are you doing to me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we might actually have some dialogue, but in all seriousness, this was pretty fun to write.


	2. Anchorage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> … Please come back another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anchorage - n. the desire to hold on to time as it passes.

_“…Oh, I hope March ate those sandwiches I left before they went off.”_ The Mad Hatter thought, far from the first time. He just couldn’t stop going back to it, a question he couldn’t answer in this dismal ‘hospital’. _“He gets so caught up in making his lotions and potions, he rarely goes out to get food on his own and if there isn’t anything already in, he just doesn’t eat! What a silly March Hare, with such reluctance to have a tea party.”_

Hatter had become concerned for the poor March Hare’s eating habits during their previous stint in Arkham together last year, when he had mentioned during the first week that he’d always struggled adjusting to the portion sizes, as he usually didn’t eat that much. Hatter was horrified, three meals a day with regular-for-a-hospital portions was too much for him? What? The Hatter set about to fix that, and he had, with only moderate difficulty!

Although, any actual objection to his visits had vanished after the sixth, that argument had truly been awful, but their friendship had been sailing far smoother than it ever had before after they had gotten back on speaking terms. However, Hatter worried about whether or not March had kept up the routine while he’d been gone, thoughts of his dear friend going without food again plagued him.

“-ter Tetch?”, The sudden pause in their conversation had worried Dr. Leland for a moment, but she had been seeing him for a few years at this point and getting carried away with his thoughts was not unusual for this particular peculiar patient.

“Oh- yes, Doctor? I apologise, what were you saying?”, With a sheepish attempt at a smile, he’d likely been wandering for a while, Leland knew.

“This is the end of the session,” Leland reiterated, not particularly offended, though felt the need to remind Tetch of the time, being that he usually became agitated if he found he couldn’t remember, “it’s 11:15, Lunch is in an hour, I’ll call a guard to take you back to your cell.”

“Alright.”

And with that, said guard was summoned to escort Jervis Tetch back to his cell.

The guard takes no care in closing the door, letting it slam shut not even an inch behind Tetch’s head. What a twat! What if the door had knocked his head off? He keeps his hat there!

Not that he had it at the moment, confiscated as he’d been admitted. After spending a long minute pondering whether they’d let him have a hat if it didn’t have his control band attached inside or take it from him anyway, he decided that Arkham was just an unpleasant place to be, full up of unpleasant people.

It might be another hour before lunch, but an hour meant something very different inside these old walls that it did in the city, which is what occurred to the Hatter as he made his way over to the bed, not for the first time. It stretched on for a day, a month, a year. Slow and stagnant, a perfect way to describe daily life in Arkham Asylum.

Not at all like Gotham City, if you lead the right sort of life… or wrong, if you ask Gotham’s media. There’s always something going on, if you haven’t got a plan, someone else has and it’s fairly easy to get a metaphorical slice of the pie since the Rogue’s “unionised” a few years back after an incident with Two-Face and the Riddler, where they ended up at the same bank and had a scrap. Poor Dormouse got his arm broken, then swiftly made sure it would never happen again… March had found it pretty funny.

Hatter forgot frequently how long he had been in Arkham, honestly he had trouble keeping track of time in general but in Arkham it became agonisingly slow instead of the overwhelming rush time could be outside, he was sure it was a punishment for indulging in his latest heartworm, although you should be aware the Hatter knows that’s an extremely understated way of referring to his infatuation with Alice Pleasance – _“‘And ever since that,’ the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, ‘he won’t do a thing I ask! It’s always six o’clock now.’”_ – and he also knows that ever persistent rush of Time marching by continued as he’d idled in Arkham.

Inches of progress made and miles of missed opportunities! It grated at his bones like a kitchen utensil, pounded at his head like a tap-dancer, stole the moisture from his mouth like sandpaper! It had been a very bad idea to stick some to his tongue but well, as they say - “curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

But back to that blasted Time, it made him feel sick to be aware of the years passing outside as he dwindled away the minutes here. It’s all his fault, the intangible bastard, Hatter wished he could grab Time by the shoulders and shake him until he sped up again. However, given the nature of time that may be counterproductive as _“’Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock.’”_ And Hatter did indeed suppose that keeping on good terms with Time was precisely his predicament.

It made him miss freedom, being able to talk to anybody whenever he wanted… to talk to March. So much will have happened in the months he’s been away, they had a magnitude of happenings to catch up on! And likely a magnitude of meals to catch up on as well… sleep was a good balm for this ailment, and Tetch decided it best he’d have it, as drowsy 40 minutes during the day would make him feel. Lunch would perk him up a bit, possibly take his mind off the beaten path of his wandering wondering.

And that amount of time later, plus maybe around 10 minutes, Tetch found himself sat at a table in the cafeteria completely unable to remember waking up and being taken here by a guard and this put him in a dreadful mood, as missing minutes often did.

On the other side of the table the Riddler decided The Slightly More Than Usual Mad Hatter was starting to get on his nerves and to have you know he absolutely wasn’t worried about Tetch, but about himself if he was a perfectly honest man; he was definitely within fork-stabbing range of his acquaintance should his health take a turn for the worst. Tetch was quiet, which worried the Riddler because while he was a listener, he usually engaged with the Riddler as he talked, even if it was only a few words or a quote or two. This was not usual for the Hatter, and Riddler analysed his face from across the table as he talked, unable to gage the mood, not seeing any outward signs of a bad mood – but he was certainly not in a good one either.

Was he thinking about Alice? About being stuck in Arkham? Was there something wrong with his medication? Had it stopped working as affectively or had there been a mistake with the distribution? The worst part about this damned brain is it never stopped thinking. A blessing and a curse, truly. Once it had latched onto a problem, it couldn’t stop before identifying a cause and a solution. It has caused, is causing, and will cause him endless stress. The one thing he couldn’t do, no matter how hard he tried.

Worry, worry, worry around in circles about what might be up with Tetch. He hasn’t made a move so far, so he could use a distraction, he didn’t have to think while talking – anything he came out with was still far more intelligent than anything anyone else could say with all their brainpower – so he’s free to come up with one without it alerting Tetch. It’s usually best to pick a subject relating to the one at hand, so he chose Alice, although the similarity of this action to Tetch’s reason for sitting across from him was not lost on the Riddler. He probably even made a joke about it in his head, a pretty funny one.

He’s likely still thinking about her - ~~but is it responsible for the change in behaviour?~~ – he’s here because he’s obsessed with her after all… it occurs to the Riddler that he hasn’t really mentioned her outside of quotes for a long time… if they’re about the person and not the fictional character, which he now believes they are not. His mouth doesn’t stall for a second as he wonders about what their first meeting was like, was it normal? Or was Tetch over the top even then? Riddler realises he spends an excessive amount of time pondering relationships and how they occur for someone with nothing but complete disinterest with forming one himself… but he’ll keep that card close to his chest and away from his head, if he can help it.

Suddenly, Tetch straightened his back with an alarming crunch, and grinned the cheshire-iest grin the Riddler had ever seen. Craning his head to the side he grimaced as the puns registered, then froze as a few puzzle pieces clicked together to form a hypothesis in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' Ed caught on before either of them did, naturally. 
> 
> You'd think messing up my knee would give me more time to write, but nope and then I got stuck on the therapy session portion of the chapter. I should probably stop giving estimates about when the next ones gonna be up, huh?  
> Anyway, here you go!
> 
> Edit: My laptop broke, but the next chapter is coming! I’d say it’s about 3/4 done so hopefully I’ll get it posted soon.


	3. Lethologica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> … Please come back another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethologica – n. the inability to put your finger on the right word.

In the dreary light of his cell, a Hatter ponders his past and current relationships, as a Hatter is wont to do, he’d woken up rather early you see and as such his head had tied itself in knots. _“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do”_

Hatter was young, very young, when he’d experienced his first crush. He hadn’t realised it was a crush until many years later, being around 10 years of age and utterly unaware that a boy could have romantic inclinations that deviated from the usually depicted heterosexual norm. Huh, that was a really long-winded way of saying he fancies blokes, wasn’t it?

He can’t remember the boys name, only that the boy had joined his primary school in the last year and had then gone to a different high school. The poor Hatter had been heartbroken, although he had chalked it up to losing a friend – of which he’d always had very few. He scrutinised those memories now, painfully aware of his obsessive tendencies… wondering if something had been wrong with him, even then.

He’d been fully aware of his next one. A girl this time. He remembered Lillian clearly, rust coloured hair and dark brown eyes, quiet laughter and closed-mouthed-smiles. He’d been shy as a child, but downright petrified of social interaction as a teenager. He never so much as spoke one word to her the entirety of high school, although he supposed that was a good thing for her, given his most recent… infatuation. His interest in Lillian had lasted a long time after he left high school, and he recognised in the present that this was not healthy, but at the time he felt that was normal to take a while in “getting over” someone, as they say.

He didn’t have romantic feelings towards anyone for a long time after that, he was in his second year of university before he met the first boy that he’d consciously felt a pang for, and James became his first proper romantic relationship too… A terrible one that should have ended long before it did, but loneliness and manipulation kept him locked securely in it. Not wanting to dwell on something Hatter knew would make him ill, he did not let his mind wander to the contents of that mental file – he acknowledged its existence and its importance in relation to later events, but nonetheless glossed over it.

Hatter only actually had real relationship experience with men, and that had been an extremely bad experience, which had made him doubly anxious when he’d realised his feelings for… Alice. Now, this was dangerous territory, but he needed to wade through these waters if he were to judge the present accurately, to learn from his past mistakes – and they WERE mistakes, Hatter had to remind himself of that, lest he drown in a rather unpleasant section of his life – so, without further ado.

He’d become aware of his attraction towards Alice much the same way as he’d done with James. He met her for the first time at a café across from the building they worked at. She looked like him, same blonde hair, same blue eyes, and on top of that he managed to connect her to his special interest. He was conscious of the fact that he was never in love with Alice, he was thankful for therapy helping him gain that much awareness of reality – even if he did and does despise it – and this was because he likened her to a character, mixed with longing for the one real romantic relationship Hatter had engaged in. It had been a recipe for disaster.

His memories of his behaviour towards her were blurred, he’d become convinced his feelings were mutual, with a biased interpretation of every action – his and hers – he was unsure at what point he’d made her ~~afraid~~ uncomfortable, but he had. He knew he had.

Most of the time he knew he had.

… Hatter knew he was mad, but that was fine for the most part, he just needed a little bit more self-discipline. He’d been doing pretty well with that, he had to say, Alice featured in his wonderland a little bit less with every visit. If that didn’t make him happy, it certainly provided him with relief – he was a criminal now, he couldn’t change it and he’d tried! _“‘It was much pleasanter at home,’ thought poor Alice, ‘when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn’t gone down that rabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life!”_ \- If this was the path he was on, he’d like to make his own twists and turns, let’s leave Alice safely behind him, yes?

So, with that, onward towards the present! No romance, he didn’t expect any, but he’d say he had more friends now than he’d ever had at any singular point in his life! Three. Whole. Friends. As far as the Hatter was concerned, he was doing very well socially, especially considering that he thought he would never have a friend again once he’d been admitted to Arkham…

A frown marred his face as he scratched at one of the scars at the top of his wrist, he supposed he’d been very lucky.

Hatter met Edward Nygma first, once he’d been let out of the mandatory solitary confinement he’d been placed in until he’d adjusted to the trial medication. The Dormouse had heard rumblings of a new Rogue and came to poke at the fresh meat in the recreation area, upon finding someone almost as hard to understand as himself, the Riddler struck up a conversation that ended up being entirely made up of riddles and Wonderland-themed quotes. The Dormouse had yet to refer to the Hatter as a friend himself, but Tetch understood the shield-like pride his friend wielded even back then.

Next he’d met the White Queen, Harleen Quinzel, who’d been doing a handstand in an Arkham hallway quite some time into his second stint there.

Hatter thought he’d reached his maximum friend-quota, but then dear Harley had introduced him to Jonathan Crane during mealtime at Arkham, severe and cold as he was, Hatter had not expected them to get along very well. Truth be told, the Scarecrow had frightened him a great deal, he was the Rogue that Hatter had seen most on the news the few times he’d turned on the telly over taking his work home with him, but as he got used to the bloke’s antics Hatter began to see the almost childish glee behind even the littlest of induced frights and before he knew it – Scarecrow was endearing to him and he was certain his March Hare felt much the same. He wouldn’t let the Hatter organise their tea parties if he didn’t…

Thoughts tapering off, the tired little Hatter didn’t realise he’d drifted off back to Wonderland…

Hatter then finds himself sitting up again, some time later, and being ushered out of his cell towards the cafeteria for breakfast, although he much felt as if he were still in a dream – absentmindedly, he drifted through the fuzzy corridors and realised he was having quite a bit of trouble catching his breath. Odd. Shouldn’t his breathing slow down when he dreamed? He was dreaming, wasn’t he? Although, even if he wasn’t breathing, he could still be asleep, couldn’t he? To suggest otherwise would be ridiculous -“You might just as well say, that _"I breathe when I sleep" is the same thing as "I sleep when I breathe"!_ -

A hand startles him out of… well, being startled I suppose. Looking up, without realising he’d been looking down in the first place, the Hatter recognises the March Hare. Hatter must try very hard to focus on what March is saying, but he manages to pry “-ethe with me, Tetch, one two-” and somewhere in between the mushy bits of his brain he understands the March Hare is trying to calm him down, he must be in such a state! Oh, and Hatter was the one that wanted to help him, who HADN’T been eating while left to his own devices, because of course he hadn’t, why would he care about his own health.

“Tetch, please spare me the lecture, I’ve already been suitably scolded by my therapist, and Harley, and Edward… and-”

“And it’s all gone in one ear and out the other, I’ll keep telling you off until it sinks in.”

“Or until I die of starvation.”

Hatter leaning forward, his back braced against the wall and his arms wrapped around his stomach, March stood a foot in front of him with his arms gripping Hatter’s shoulders, preventing him from bending over completely and falling to the floor. There is a beat of silence before they burst into laughter and already feeling lightheaded from the panic attack before, slides down to the floor in an effort to catch his breath. March follows suit and they both look out to the rest of the cafeteria, no one took much notice of them, in an asylum noticeable displays of mental health issues were so common they became unnoticeable, they weren’t even the only people sitting on the floor! The guards gave up on micromanaging how and where the inmates sat a long time ago, it just led to more behavioural issues in the long run, as long as no one was causing trouble and eating everyone was usually observed from afar during meal times.

Hatter’s smile relaxed a little as March set about people watching, it would only be a matter of time before he started narrating someone for Tetch’s and his own amusement as he often did. Hatter was so surprised by March’s sense of humour the first time he did it and it never failed to leave him in stitches. For now, Hatter sat in silence beside his… friend. Hmm. A problem of categories. A categorical problem. You see, Scarecrow was his friend, however, he was vastly different from his other friends, not quite fitting in the right category but not knowing the correct one either. It was odd, as Tetch felt a nagging itch at the back of his mind whenever the word was used in reference to the March Hare that it was the wrong one to use, which only confused the poor Hatter as his mind would not, could not supply him with another.

No, ‘friend’ doesn’t sit the same on the March Hare as it does on Queenie or Dormouse, but he must make it fit, he wouldn’t have a word for him otherwise… Hatter simply wouldn’t know what to call him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand, there's chapter 3! This was mostly to establish Tetch's status as the most disastrous of bisexuals. That's it that's the chapter.  
> The Riddler will be back with a bang next time, for anyone who missed his neurotic ass, and it'll be a more Scarecrow-centric chapter like chapter 1, I'm going to try to post it on Halloween, because yes. 
> 
> Happy Scarecrow month everybody!


	4. Kenopsia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenopsia - n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

“So! It’s agreed then. Exit through the third storage room?” The Riddler claps his hands together, distracting the Scarecrow mere moments before he shoved the plastic fork in his hand through Two-Face’s good eye, which is a very genuine concern the Riddler had, considering the visibly white-knuckled grip Scarecrow had on the flimsy utensil. One wrong move and they’d draw attention to themselves before they’d even begun.

They’d been going back and forth about their plan for some time, everyone involved – Riddler, Hatter, Scarecrow, Harley and Two-Face – had their own ideas of how they wanted the breakout to go. Who knew five extreme individuals would have such a hard time agreeing with one another?

They were working at a snail’s pace, but that was fine, they had all the time in the world to figure out what they were going to do, and if anything, taking their time would help them ensure that everything will work out as intended. Riddler needed to dissipate the tension that had worked up between the two more volatile members of the group (dubbed “Breakout Pals”, by Harley) for that to happen. He wished Hatter or Harley were present, either would be infinitely more apt at calming down a fuming Professor Crane; Two-Face was a lost cause as far as Riddler was concerned.

He will have to give it his best shot, not just because the situation may kick off if he runs to get them, but also because he just flat out can’t get passed either of – I repeat – the highly volatile individuals without touching or asking them. The Riddler has self-preservation instincts, thank you very much.

His previous interjection has their attention, what he says next will either end the fight before it gets physical or escalate it, so he must choose his words carefully.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Riddler begins cautiously, showing in the tone of his voice “it would make more sense to commandeer a car from one of the employees here, the lot they keep them in IS closer and I’m not certain we can make it to the transport vehicles without getting caught from there.”

Riddler notices Two-Face flipping his coin behind his back and resulting in him stepping away from Scarecrow first, who then turns to him, his face settling back into his usual sour expression.

“I suppose that’s a sound plan.” Riddler doesn’t even need to look at Scarecrow’s face to know he’s gritting his teeth, he’s agreeing though, so it’s not something to be panicking about. Riddler tells himself. Repeatedly. Okay, so maybe he isn’t as confident as he’d like other people believe, sue him.

Two-Face responds with a nod and a swift exit, down the hall and to the right, once out of sight Crane visibly deflates and a sigh is drawn from his lips. Riddler didn’t like Two-Face, but he didn’t know why Crane was always so antagonistic when it came to him. A mystery for another day, Riddler thinks, he has more important things to do right now.

“I’ll head up to the laundry, get that list of crap you were talking about yesterday.”

“Thank you.”

Scarecrow watches his… acquaintance walk away. He stays still for a minute or so, slowing his breathing down, fuck he hated being told what to do. Then sets off to his own assigned “job”, he resides in the library for much of his free time so it’s only natural he works in there as well. He mentally curses Nygma along with the entirety of his bloodline for the rest of time, as he walks  _to the other side of the building from where the Riddler had called the meeting at_. Arkham is huge, it’ll take him fifteen minutes to walk over there and he’s not in the mood for this.

He spends the time periodically opening and closing his fist and pondering the empty corridors. Of course, there’s the occasional guard but space isn’t usually so empty or quiet. It’s almost… creepy.

Excellent.

Hey, he’ll take anything he could get in Arkham. Scarecrow’s one and only vice had always been fear, he can’t just turn off a craving even if the best he could do is take in the atmosphere, especially after how lacklustre his latest arrest had been. Embarrassing, reckless and pathetic are also words he could use to describe it. His mistake had quite simply been staying in one place for too long, Crane had been in the middle of moving hideout’s, you see, and he’d been caught by Batman when he’d returned for some of his belongings. He’d tried to make a break for it but once Batman had you in close quarters it was notoriously difficult to make an escape.

Scarecrow had been caught completely off guard, he was lucky to have already moved the more valuable parts of his work, everything he’d lost was completely replaceable. It had been mostly painless this time around, the only wound being to his pride.

He certainly didn’t envy the Good Hatter, despite his plan being rather brilliant in Crane’s opinion, he’d ended up in Arkham with more than a few broken bones, Tetch had only gotten the cast off his arm just a few days prior to Crane’s arrival.

Once inside the library, he grabs a pile of books to process and places them on the work desk. Then, going to a closet near the back, he crouches down and pretends to look for the correct supplies but instead opens up a vent containing four jars of chemicals, he smiles as he holds them up to his face one by one, it’s mixed well, he just needs Nygma to get him what he needs and they’re all one step closer to freedom. Placing them all back inside, he’ll let them sit for another few days, then add the final components.

He takes a pack of stamps and labels as he leaves to spend the next two hours doing his damn job.

Fuck, he hates Arkham.

Days later Scarecrow is looking out the tiny barred window from his bed, patiently waiting for nightfall. It’s Riddler and Two-Face’s job to get everyone out of the cells, and he means everyone.

To aid them in this endeavour they will use Scarecrow’s own asylum-brewed fear toxin on as many Arkham staff members he can reach, Crane’s jealous he won’t get to see the effects first hand, but he doesn’t have access to anything that could be used to disperse it, Riddler and his laundry duty do.

It’ll get him out of here at any rate, then he can horrify to his non-existent heart's content.

The first scream is a delight, truly. By the time he loses count, he’s buzzing with excitement, he wants to get out there and do some damage!

Riddler can’t arrive soon enough, when he finally does Scarecrow almost doesn’t acknowledge him as he exits the cell, slapping on a wicked grin in his direction at the last second.

“Tetch is already at the property rooms, don’t make us wait!”

Time’s of the essence, eh? Alright, Crane can certainly work with that, he’s quite suited to sprinting in any case.

Scarecrow finds Hatter exactly where he thinks he will be, stood in front of a locker with ‘Crane, J.’ Stamped on the front, struggling with the lock.

Extra security to prevent Scarecrow from accessing his gear in the event of a break out. The situation was in his favour this time, it may have stumped him when it was new but he had gotten used to opening them by now.

As he gets closer he can hear Tetch, now with his hat and two bags of personal items at his feet, mumbling: “‘There was not a moment to be lost’”

“Exactly!” Mumbling ceased as Tetch jumped and faced him, “tend to Riddler’s belongings, I’ll sort out my own. We don’t have any time to waste.”

“‘If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, ‘you wouldn’t talk about wasting _it_. It’s _him_.’” But he leaves Crane his own locker all the same. Making quick work of it, he pauses a moment to inspect a tear in his mask. That won’t do. That’s the first on the to-do list for when he gets back to his hideout.

That’s their part done, now, to head to the storage rooms, one floor down, to meet with the other half of their team. Actually leaving the building is often the most difficult part of an escape plan, all they can do is hope Riddler or Two-Face didn’t get caught during their own tasks.

Riddler is fine, they discover, but Two-Face had run head first into the Batman. Disappointing but not unsurprising, Batman watches anything to do with the Rogues like a hawk, getting here before even the police when the alarm blares.

They’ll have to leave him behind, but it’s no skin off his back, or Riddler’s he heavily suspects, Two-Face will add to the distraction but they needed to leave right now!

Silently, he throws his own gear out the window and follows it through not unlike a grasshopper. No one would survive making that comment, no matter how fond he was of them. Riddler jumps after him, with Hatter’s arm in his grip. Acrophobia was a pain to deal with in their line of work, even if it was mild. It would be surprising to the casual observer that Riddler would help with someone with that, but not so much to someone who’s been around Riddler for an extended period. He seems to have developed a soft spot for the mostly mild-mannered Hatter, but then again so had the Scarecrow. He couldn't judge. 

Riddler noticed this and had begun a working hypothesis based on his previous observations. Tetch’s mood vastly improving since Crane’s arrival, the amount of time they spend talking to each other given the opportunity, the flustered way Tetch looks at Crane when he grins… It suggested things. He wouldn’t call it what he thinks it is until he’s certain, though. The one thing no one can call the Riddler is stupid, he never states something he hasn’t tested as a fact. So, for now he’ll keep watching, waiting, for the right time to tease the shit out of them.

He was a nosy bitch, so sue him.

He turned his full focus back from social analytics and on to running very quickly away from the blaring building, it just wouldn’t do to fall behind.

Scarecrow was leading the way and cackling like the mad man he very much was. Hmm. That’s also something new. Crane rarely laughed before Hatter was added to their little group, when he did it was without fail related to fear in some way… Okay, he lied, he was never going to stop analysing them, Riddler’s are to puzzles as moths are to flames and this was indeed a rather interesting puzzle to him. He simply had to figure out how all the pieces fit together, mostly because he hadn’t even considered it as a possibility, he hadn’t thought of Crane as… well.

They arrive at the car lot and Riddler jimmied the door of the closest one and hot-wired it almost on autopilot. He stayed firmly in that thoughtful daze until the door on the other side slammed shut and suddenly there was a very winded Jonathan Crane slumping in the seat next to him. Riddler had half a mind to tell him off for making so much noise on the way down, but lady luck was on their side tonight. if the explosions coming from Arkham’s main building were anything to go by, Batman had his hands quite full and wouldn’t be coming out after them as they drove away into the night.

Ditching the car as soon as they made it to Gotham would be the best course of action, but they needed to change clothes before they did; walking around in inmate uniform was not going to go down well. Naturally, Riddler had a plan for that, because of course he did. He has plans for everything.

They needed to get to a storage facility, where the Riddler kept some just-broke-out supplies. Only bare-bones stuff like clothes, though, it’s meant as a quick stop before going somewhere else, so it’s best not to spend much time there.

Getting dressed is quick affair, everyone ends up in something green, because even if he’s going incognito the Riddler is going to have an aesthetic.

This is why Crane ends up in a Riddler brand T-shirt, green with a single question mark on a pocket on the upper left. It’s terrible and if anyone tries to take a picture of him, he’ll slaughter them… but it’ll do until he gets to his hideout, he supposes.

Tetch doesn’t really mind the green sweater, the only thing that really fits him, the shirt in his belongings being far too dirty to put on but the trousers will do just nicely.

Walking back to the staircase that will lead them back down to street level, Riddler decides to live up to his namesake.

“You are sad upon my arrival

but to some am close to a miracle.

I ruin your plans, so you despise me,

and yet you wouldn't survive without me.”

Jonathan works out that he’s both warning them about the rain and gloating about how much they relied on him with the car. Heh, they could have done that themselves, maybe not as quickly, but Riddler wouldn’t have the patience for that anyway.

Riddler parts ways after that, it’s best to split up after a breakout and besides, Riddler’s busy. Crane would suggest to Tetch they do the same, however he has a sneaking suspicion that his friend had plans to ensure he got a meal in him.

He’s correct, of course, he knows Tetch too well by now not to be, and he finds himself being let to a rather large store.

Multi-purpose stores like this were fantastic for on the run inmates. You could pick up food, toiletries, and a whole lot of other supplies and no one thinks you’re odd for it. Walking further in, Jonathan picks up a basket, then goes to walk back to Tetch and ends up face to face with a Halloween display.

He hadn’t realised it was October already, he’d have to do something fun on the day. Fun for him, anyway.

It isn’t long before Tetch joins him and draws his attention to a marionette skeleton. There was only one thing the Scarecrow could do when faced with such a sight.

“Spooky, scary skeletons send shivers down your spine~” Tetch wheezes with laughter, gaining them both dirty looks from the woman-with-the-face-like-a-battle-axe opposite them as Jonathan Crane continued to act like a fool in public. He’d long since abandoned the notion of being dignified when Tetch was around. “Shrieking skulls will shock your soul, seal your doom tonight~”

As they move past the display and onto the next isle, there search for supplies continued, as did the singing. “Spooky scary skeletons, speak with such a screech, you’ll shake and shudder in surprise, when you hear these zombies shriek~”

Tetch managed to find some tea, he always did, and they both moved on, bottled water, milk, sandwiches, duct tape and some mugs were added as they went.

“We're so sorry skeletons, you’re so misunderstood, you only want to socialise, but I don't think we should~”

Tetch goes to the next isle while Jonathan decides which brand of toilet paper he wants and returns with deodorant, conspicuously placing it inside the basket. Well then. If that’s the game, he wants to play then so be it.

“Cause spooky scary skeletons, shout startling shrilly screams, they’ll sneak from their sarcophagus, and just won't leave you be~”

Jonathan replied in kind by turning around sharply and marching straight to the shaving supplies, copying his friend’s previous actions. He then gestured to Tetch’s armpits and grinned, his voice never once faltering.

“Spirits supernatural, are shy whats all the fuss, but bags of bones seem so unsafe, it’s semi-serious!~”

To be honest, Tetch’s mock gasps are indistinguishable from his real gasps. So whether he’s genuinely offended, just playing along, or both is unknown to Jonathan until the snickering gives him away. Regardless, it’s hilarious when he storms away and comes back with the skeleton-puppet.

“Couldn’t leave without your fiancé.”

“Spooky scary skeletons, are silly all the same, they’ll smile and scrabble slowly by, and drive you so insane~”

It’s getting difficult to keep from laughing but Jonathan’s determined to finish the song now.

They’ve got everything they came for, now they head to pay and get over to The Scarecrow’s Hideout.

“Sticks and stones will break your bones, they seldom let you snooze, spooky scary skeletons, will wake you with a boo!~”

It takes longer for the laughter to die down than it takes to get to the Scarecrow’s new hideout. A small section of caved in train station. Thank you, earthquake, for creating countless places for criminals to hide. Thankful he’d had time to set up before his most recent incarceration, Jonathan sat at the desk from the last hideout that he’d managed to have moved over.

Another thing he’d had brought over was an electric kettle, he’d taken to keeping one around when he had access to working power outlets, a habit he’d picked up from a certain British friend. Said British friend had made a beeline for it, tea and mugs in hand, and got to work. There was only one thing that Hatter truly loved more than making tea, and that is drinking tea.

With his friend was occupied, Crane decided that it was a good idea to wait until Tetch left to start his work, no doubt he’d be called away to eat within the next 10 minutes, and “no” just wasn’t an answer Hatter would take. The man was deadly serious about his tea parties.

In the meantime, Crane sat back and looked around the station, and pondered what he usually did when taking residence in an abandoned structure; The fact that at one time this place was full of people. The train station would likely have been packed at this time of day, he could still see his and Hatter’s footsteps preserved in the dust. It was eerie in a way that Jonathan could dearly appreciate, it was the exact reason he selected places like this. Hatter wasn’t too keen, but if he couldn’t deal with a creepy aesthetic then he wouldn’t be friends with Jonathan in the first place.

Ah, Hatter had finished preparing the tea, time for a party… he supposed he was feeling rather hungry, Arkham cuisine left a lot to be desired.

A little while after they were finished and the conversation had died out Hatter left through the empty hall at a leisurely pace with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week late, but this was a beast of a chapter, the longest I've written to date, so I think that makes up for it :)


	5. Sonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonder - n. the realization that each random passer-by is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Oh, dear. The weather really is rather dismal, isn’t it? He’s utterly certain the March Hare hasn’t left his house these past few days, he so detests getting wet, the Mad Hatter knows. Another tea party is in imminent order, this is certain. _“Take some more tea," the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly._

The last one had been put together in a bit of a rush, but now Hatter had time to put some proper effort into the food. He knows that Jonathan likes fruit more than anything else, so he most most of his shopping at the farmers market. He’s glad to be back in his own clothes, even if the ones he’s currently wearing are his civilian clothes, going incognito is a certainty when dealing with the occupational hazard of ‘the police are on the lookout for you’, he’d much rather not get followed back home and be cornered inside. _“We must burn the house down!” said the rabbit's voice, and Alice called out, as loud as she could, “if you do, I'll set Dinah at you!”_

But back to the farmers market, he’d picked up two boxes of tea earlier in the day, Hatter adored peppermint tea and he knew March was partial to elderflower tea since he’d introduced him to it. So now Hatter was browsing the stalls for any and all fruit in addition to the list of ingredients for the coconut cauliflower curry he wanted to make. Hatter had it for the first time shortly before his latest stint in Arkham and he’d loved it, he was excited to see what Jonathan’s opinions of it were. 

Chickpeas, sweet potatoes, cauliflower, spinach, tomatoes, yellow onion, along with other ingredients he’d picked up with the tea earlier. He found it to be a relatively simple dish to put together, he needed simple while he was still getting used to being out in the real world. Speaking of adjusting to being out of Arkham, Hatter was very, very tired. He hadn’t done this much walking about in months, he’d been out all day and he needed a break. 

A bench would do just fine. 

He had nothing frozen, so he felt pretty comfortable to sit around for a while. He watched the people walking past him and wondered about them, what they were thinking, what made them happy, what made them sad, what jobs did they do, what made them laugh. An understanding that in the back of his head that he would never know any of these things, but that these things existed, lived and possessed by these strangers all milling about in the same place as him. 

Who loved them?

Who did they love?

… Who loved him. Who did he love. Was anyone standing around in this sweet little farmers market, thinking these things about him? _“And the moral of that is—'Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round!'” “Somebody said,” Alice whispered, “that it's done by everybody minding their own business!”_

What would he say if he was asked these questions? Not the truth, definitely. Perhaps fixating on wanting to know strangers was a bad idea, Hatter was starting to feel a little lonely, so he decided to do what he always does when he feels lonely. He thinks about his friends. 

He goes straight for March, since he was on his mind already. He knew a decent number of things about Jonathan Crane, affectionately called the March Hare, beginning with the food he liked. March wasn’t a vegetarian like him, but he was willing to try most things Hatter cooked anyway and liked a lot of it. He liked dragon fruit and strawberries best, but he’d usually go for a lot of junk food over anything healthy if left to his own devices. 

He liked most areas of science, but chemistry suited him best, and something he liked even more than chemistry was psychology, learning what made people tick, what caused each and every behaviour. What a fantastic thing that was, Hatter thought, for March to have found a job that lets him spend most of his time on things he loved, things that make him happy. Hatter likes his friends to be happy.

March liked time alone, and Hatter respected that almost as much as he respected March, but March also didn’t always do what was healthy. March was learning, and Hatter respected that too, almost as much as he enjoyed spending time with March. 

March liked all sorts of books and writings, from academic essays to all sorts of classical and philosophical works, the man was exceedingly well read, and he was a delight to have conversations with, always a new recommendation up his sleeve. 

He liked stars, astronomy, a great deal. He wasn’t sure why. Most of all, March liked fear, anything and everything about it. He didn’t know that either. He wished he did, but that was a lot of conversations he simply hadn’t had time for. He should make time. He should have all the conversations in the world with the March Hare, learn all there is to know and a hell of a lot more. 

He desperately wanted to know more, which was strange because he was pretty content with just imagining Alice as he wanted her to be, with no regard for who she actually was, loving her was loving a character he’d designed but loving March-…

Oh. 

Oh, no. 

Hatter’s mind stills under the realisation. If love can truly take your breath away, then that would explain his extreme difficulty breathing right now. This… is not good. Hatter _knows_ this is not good. Hatter is lucid enough right now to know this is not good, but Hatter isn’t always lucid, in fact, Hatter spent a large portion of his time being very much not lucid despite his improvements. 

The last time Hatter thought he had been in love with someone, he had become decidedly… unhinged. He now understood and accepted that he’d already been very ill at that point. Hatter had done some pretty wretched things to the poor woman, things he’d shuddered at when he looked back on them, and he’s aware his previous ‘crushes’ hadn’t been the pinnacle of health either. 

He knows that this isn’t going to end well for him or Jonathan, now that he’d made this connection, and the last thing he wanted was a repeat of his behaviour with Alice Pleasance. Perhaps creating some distance was the best course of action here? _“She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it)”_

… then again, March wasn’t Alice Pleasance. This situation… felt different, than the previous. He hadn’t become infatuated here, quickly or otherwise. This development of feelings was slow, Hatter thought, taking place over a period of years, but how could he know for sure he wouldn’t relapse _? “I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.”_ That he hadn’t already relapsed? What was the difference between healthy and unhealthy? Hatter didn’t know, and his problem lied in the blurred lines. 

Hatter hoped he was different, _“Alice replied, rather shyly, "I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”_ , however he truly couldn’t be sure. Hatter had learnt he was at his worst when he thought he was fine the hard way. 

In the end, Hatter decided he trusted March enough to set him straight if he crossed a line, March was a Rogue for heaven’s sake, one of the most feared Rogue’s at that. The Scarecrow didn’t become the Scarecrow by letting others step over his boundaries without swift and brutal retribution. 

He hoped he could prevent himself from doing anything untoward on his own though, he’d much prefer to avoid ending up back in Arkham in the same state as he’d first arrived. Hatter would much like to avoid going back to Arkham all together _“But I don't want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked. “Oh, you can't help that,” said the Cat: “we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop, there it is :)


End file.
